


Leave the Gun, Take the Pirozshki

by emeraldonyxdragon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyguard!Otabek, Happy Ending, M/M, Mafia Boss!Yuri, Mafioso!Victor, More characters, Pairings, Police!Yuuri, Russian Mafia, Serious, and tags to be added, but not TOO dark, mafia!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 12:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldonyxdragon/pseuds/emeraldonyxdragon
Summary: Not your typical mafia au. The Plisetsky Bratva has held St. Petersburg for almost three generations. Minor bloodshed aside, the new leaders, Yuri and Otabek, settle in for a future of threats, intimidation, and exploitation. But when one of their own is captured, it sets off a chain of events that will leave destruction in its wake. St. Petersburg will never be the same again.





	1. Loyalty and Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 of Yoi Mafia week! Prompt: Loyalty/Sacrifice. Very different from my usual writing; hope you enjoy. Multi chaptered work, the first seven chapters inspired by the mafia week's prompts.

Victor looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. He stood up, adjusting his expensive gold cufflinks and tugging at his black gloves. Feet shoulder-width apart, his perfect posture was broken only by the perfunctory way in which Victor tilted his head, letting his silver hair cover one eye.

The footsteps slowed, and stopped. Brown eyes met blue. The brown narrowed, while the blue remained unchanged.

“So,” the brown-eyed man began, “Victor Nikiforov.”

“The way you say my name is always so sweet.”

“I didn’t believe him at first you know,” he shook his head and sighed. “You must have enjoyed it, this whole time, this sick, twisted game you played.”

Victor interrupted, “None of that was a lie, Yuuri-”

“Don’t say my name; you lost that right a long time ago. Your tongue is as silver as your hair; I just didn’t realize how true my words were at the time.” Yuuri squared his shoulders and gripped his wrists tightly behind his back in an attempt to steady his trembling hands.

Yuuri then spent a few seconds just gazing at Victor, readjusting everything he thought he knew about the man. His heart-shaped smile was absent now, and the serious look on his face made him almost seem like a different person. Scratch that, he was a different person. The bubbly and silly Victor persona he adopted in front of Yuuri must have just been that, a front. Yuuri made it past the sharp nose and into the still-familiar ice blue eyes. Once crinkled in kindness, Yuuri stared deep, searching for a scrap of truth in the man he thought he knew. Yuuri nodded resolutely to himself and Victor’s eyes visibly softened.

Yuuri stepped close, one hand raised almost as if to touch Victor’s face, but the cold iron bars between them caused it to hesitate and that, more than anything, broke Victor’s heart. “Vitya,” Yuuri murmured softly, “If there is still any ounce of love in your heart for me, then please, tell me what you know. That is how I can protect you, but only if you confess.”

Victor was torn. His first duty was to the Bratva, the group that took him in and gave him shelter and belonging, a family. But then here was Yuuri, his Yuuri, practically begging for Victor to throw himself into the fire. But was Yuuri worth that? Was he worth inciting the fury of his Boss and bodyguard? Victor took a step back, away from temptation. He shook his head, increasingly his reslove weakening. Yuuri was worth anything.

 

Georgi shook, whimpering slightly as he fell to his knees on the richly tiled floor. The cold, hard surface caused pain to travel up his legs but he felt none of it. Prostrating himself in front of Boss, he quickly stammered out a greeting.

“Get your face off my clean floor and speak up, I can’t hear you,” called the boss from his throne. Georgi lifted his head and slowly met his leader’s eyes. Cold, flinty green stared back, long braided blond hair carelessly flipped over a pale shoulder. Sitting sideways on the throne, Plisetsky blew softly on his nails and set the nail file carefully aside on a nearby side table.

“Boss,” Georgi began again, quickly glancing to Plisetsky’s shadow on the right of the throne. Yuri noticed his glance and gave a mirthless chuckle, cocking his head to the side and he righted himself on his seat, planting both feet firmly on the ground and resting his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers.

“Scared of my bodyguard here, Georgi? You must have really fucked up this time.” Plisetsky’s voice rose in volume, a telltale sign of his shortening patience. “Your boss is right here, Bookkeeper!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Georgi apologized, nodding both to the shadow and Plisetsky.

“Wait a minute, where’s Victor?” Plisetsky raised an eyebrow, “He left with you, did he not?” Sighing, Plisetsky ran a hand over his face, “Did he ditch you to go see that pig again?”

“Well, uh, you see, that, uh, is what I need to talk to you about, actually.” Georgi said. Plisetsky’s eyes narrowed. Georgi spoke quickly, “Victor has been compromised.”

At this information, Yuri stood and beckoned his shadow forward. Stepping into the light revealed a tan man with an undercut, dressed in dark, form fitting clothes. At Plisetsky’s beckoning, he slowly strode forward and loomed menacingly over Georgi. His silence was more intimidating than Plisetsky.

The Boss’ bodyguard was the head of the Security Group and thus had the right to kill anyone in the bratva he felt was posing a danger or threat to the group, including the Boss himself. Georgi was small fry compared to that.

With both gazes focused solely on him, Georgi knew he had to talk quickly to try to save the bratva, and then himself.

“It, it was a lucky break, I was only distracted for a second I swear.” Georgi blabbered, “Victor gave himself up to save me.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Plisetsky admonished. “Victor would never give himself up for you,” he said.

Georgi looked confused, “But then…”

“He did it to protect the Bratva. A Bookkeeper is much more important than a Brigadier. You’re in charge of our finances after all. But first explain: How did you get caught to begin with?”

“We met up with Baranovskaya’s group just fine. The handoff was completed successfully.”

“At least you did that part right.”

“The issue started right after we left.” Here, Georgi nervously wrung his hands. “On our way back to the car I received a call, from, uh, Anya.”

Yuri dragged his hand across his face, exasperated. “And?”

“Well,” Georgi said quickly, “Not that it’s important but she broke up with me. And while I was distracted,”

“You mean crying most likely” scoffed Plisetsky.

“Grieving,” Georgi attempted to correct. At Altin’s emotionless gaze however, the word trailed off. Shrinking away slightly from both figures, Georgi continued.

“I’m not quite sure what happened after that; it all happened so fast. Victor all of a sudden grabbed my arm and dragged me to the car. He tossed me in and told the driver to go. Last I saw, Victor had his hands up.”

“And you’re sure he was captured by the police?” Plisetsky asked. “Where’s Victor’s phone?”

“Ah! Yes, I have it,” Georgi held out the slim, poodle-patterned device. “I found it on the car seat on the way back.” Altin took it and tossed it backwards. Plisetsky caught it gracefully and began to thumb through it.

“Georgi’s right,” Altin said unexpectedly. Georgi looked up, surprised. Plisetsky just glanced up from the phone.

“Victor would not surrender to anyone but cops.”

Yuri nodded in agreement. “Now, one final thing, and this is the most important Georgi,” Plisetsky stood, and with a swift kick, knocked Georgi onto his back. Plisetsky’s leopard-patterned boot pressed into Georgi’s chest, just enough to keep him from moving. Crouching down so that Plisetsky’s knee reached his ear, Georgi absentmindly wondered, just how flexible was Boss? Yuri spit his next words into Georgi’s face.

“Did. Anyone. See. You?”

Georgi though back, the handoff was made, then Anya, his girl-his ex-girlfriend called, and then Georgi was bundled into the car.

“No, no I wasn’t seen Boss, I swear!” Georgi replied. “The car wasn’t followed and I never saw any of the cops. Victor didn’t notice anybody watching us until he grabbed me.”

Plisetsky smiled, but on his face it looked more threatening than friendly. He patted Georgi’s shoulder as he got up. “Good. Now Otabek here doesn’t have to kill you.” An audible click was heard from Georgi’s left and he flinched belatedly as Altin uncocked the gun and put the safety back on.

“Here is my decision.” Yuri spoke again and Georgi looked back at his Boss. “You are hereby removed from your position as Bookkeeper. Once you leave this room, hand all your hidden files over to Lee who will be your replacement. You are now demoted to Shestroyka, the lowest of the low.” Georgi was stricken. Demoted? To an errand boy? He had never fallen so low, but it was well deserved, seeing as he helped get one of Boss’ Brigadiers captured.  
Plisetsky was still talking. “Out of respect for your father and my grandfather, I am not having you killed. This is your second chance.” Spinning on his heel, Plisetsky called back over his shoulder, “Don’t fuck it up this time Georgi.”

“Um, what’s going to happen to Victor?” Georgi asked timidly. He had to know.

Yuri laughed once, a harsh sound. “You think you have the right to ask me that now? To even know information about one of my Brigadiers? Ha, shestroyka. Get out of my sight.”

Once the door slammed shut behind Georgi’s retreating figure, Yuri slumped in his chair. Otabek came up behind him and rubbed his shoulders comfortingly.

“Fuck, fuck!” Holding his head in his hands, Yuri let Beka’s hands work their magic. Letting his head rest against the back of the chair, Yuri said, “Now what are we going to do Beka?”

“Victor knows what to do,” Otabek said. He leaned close to whisper in Yura’s ear. “And if not, then we know how to deal with him,” Otabek promised.


	2. Extravagance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the grand gala, the Plisetsky Bratva gather and regroup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of Mafia Week: Extravagance

A big part of the Plisetsky Bratva’s continued presence in the city was through their philanthropic works. They invested heavily in charities, hospitals, food banks, and community improvement projects. This was a large part of the reason why it has been so difficult to get rid of the group itself. The public was aware of this and while they understood that the bratva did not gain the money for their new public schools legally, they appreciated the benefits that the city was unable to provide.

But that didn’t mean he had to accept it. If the Bratva truly wanted to benefit the city, they should do it legally and not through exploitation and violence, thought Yuuri. They are only using charity as a front to gain protection, and it was working. The mafia’s presence in the city was subtle, but many attempts by the police to investigate were often met with refusals from its citizenry. It was much more profitable to protect the Bratva than to speak against it. That is why it was so important that Vity-no, Victor talk.

Yuuri sat at his desk, thinking hard. The anonymous tip was perfect, letting the police force know of the time and place that the covert hand off between two of the most important Bratva Brigadiers in the city was to occur. It occurred to Yuuri that the tipoff was almost too perfect. The thought that the tip may have been planted on purpose crossed Yuuri’s mind but although he acknowledged it, he dismissed it. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Yuuri thought to himself. There may be a bigger enemy put there but right now the Plisetsky Bratva was his main concern. If there was someone also working against the Plisetsky Bratva, then Yuuri wanted to make sure they were working together.

This Anti-Mafia Taskforce that Police Chief Celestino had assigned Yuuri to was usually considered a crap assignment because of how the public protected its mafia, but that had all changed yesterday. JJ had just made the arrest of the century with the very public arrest of one of St. Petersburg’s richest socialites, Victor Nikiforov. Unfortunately, JJ was also the kind of person who would never stop bragging about it as well. However, this could work in his favor. Sending JJ put to do a myriad of interviews and gain publicity would let the Bratva know who exactly had Victor. Yuuri was hoping this would make them panic, and more prone to make mistakes. Shaking his head, Yuuri picked up the phone. It was time to make a call.

 

Yakov took the package from Dmitri, his shestroyka. He opened it and counted the bills at a glance. Tossing the money to his Bookkeeper, he turned to Baranovskaya.

“It's all here, like they promised.”

Lilia pursed her lips, “Plisetsky always keeps his promises, but it was strange. They don't usually send the Bookkeeper to run errands.”

“Victor was there too.”

“Yes.”

Both of them looked up at the sound of the door opening. The plush carpet muffled the sound of the heels that approached them. Yakov moved protectively in front of Lilia but relaxed when Minako appeared at the door, holding a newspaper in her hand. Striding confidently into the Brigadier’s inner office, Minako tossed the paper onto the desk that Lilia sat behind.

“We have a problem,” she stated simply.

Lilia looked down. Victor’s silver hair was washed out in his mugshot and it was rare or see him not smiling but he was still recognizable. She glanced at the headline, ‘St. Petersburg Loses One Of Its Own To the Plisetsky Mafia.’

“Bring the car around,” Lilia replied. “It's time to head down to the gala.”

 

Held at the Altin mansion, the annual St. Petersburg Firefighter Charity Gala had been held there for many, many years, even after the tragic incident that occurred seven years ago. Rolls Royces and Lamboughinis rolled up to the sprawling estate, past the security checkpoint and finally handing the car keys over to the small army of valets lined up by the door. With a quick toss of a few benjamins, the richest and most influential people of St. Petersburg walked up a well manicured garden and crossed the large palace doors into the ballroom.

The guests did their best to not look impressed at the lavish interior. The ballroom had a huge central chandelier, glistening with the reflected light of candles through the thousands of diamonds that arrayed its many gilded arms. The walls were lined with matching gilded wall scones and large mirrors all on one side. The other wall of the ballroom was all polished glass, so fine that guards were stationed periodically, their sole task being preventing guests from running into it. The mirrors and the glass served to reflect the lights into thousands of tiny stars, and to make the already large ballroom appear even bigger.

On the other end of the ballroom was a finely carpeted stage that rested on the marble floor. Up there, there was a microphone and the Altin head of house, resplendent in a shimmering gown and an elaborately coiffed hairdo. Behind her was the young Altin scion and Plisetsky stood off to the side, almost blending in with the gold of the walls.

Once all the main guests arrived, Grandmama Altin nodded at Otabek, who handed her the microphone and took a step back.

With a strong voice that belied her many years, she spoke. “Welcome, esteemed guests, family, and friends.”

The nearby reporter’s designated area was awash with light as dozens of cameras flashed and the red blinking lights of video recorders turned on. Without batting an eye, Grandmama Altin continued.

“As you all know, I am the head of the Altins, Zarina, known better as Grandmama. This is the 33rd Annual Firefighter Charity Gala, and the 21st year that I am hosting. Regardless of any past tragedies that may have befallen us in years past,” she paused a moment and Otabek handed her a handkerchief from his suit pocket. After taking a moment to compose herself, Grandmama spoke stronger than ever.

“As we have proven before and continue to prove now, we will not let tragedy define us!” The room erupted into applause and the flashes from the reporter’s cameras turned blinding. “But enough about me. Tonight is to celebrate the firefighters of St. Petersburg, who risk their lives every day to protect us.” She gestured, and a large projector screen lit up a corner of the ballroom. The screen had a digital image of a thermometer and was labeled ‘Donations.’

“This is but one of the few ways that we give back to our firefighters. The Altin family will personally donate 30 million rubles to the St. Petersburg Firefighter Association.” No sooner had the words left her mouth that the thermometer image began to change. The thermometer began to be filled with shimmering fire, stopping at a line labeled 30 million. The crowd gasped audibly as the huge amount and looked back up at Grandmama with poorly disguised awe.

“Now, please don't forget to make your donations over there and to enjoy the party,” Grandmama finished her speech to more applause. The firefighter Chief then came up and shook her hand, saying a few words of thanks and appreciation for the generous donation. Grandmama nodded elegantly, grace in every movement, and took Otabek’s arm as she was led off the stage. She whispered something into Otabek’s ear and they made their way to a hidden door in a cleverly shadowed part of the ballroom. Once the door sealed shut behind them both, they strode down the soundproofed hall.

Grandmama said, “Gather everyone. It's time to counterattack.”

A few minutes later, Yuri led the way to the main meeting room. Situated in the middle of the complex and quite some distance from the ballroom, he waited for the rest of the remaining Brigadiers to arrive with Grandmama. They were each standing at opposite heads of the oval table. Otabek trailed at Yuri’s heels, nodding to each of the guards that they passed.

The meeting room was lavish as well, a fully stocked liquor bar lined one end and in the middle was a large dark wood table. The walls were windowless for protection, and had expensive tapestries and paintings as decoration instead. Yuri made to pour himself some liquor, but a stern glance from Grandmama stayed his hand. A small pout making its way on his face, Yuri waited for Gramps’ arrival.

Nikolai opened the door and walked in, flanked by two guards that stood watch outside the meeting room. Yuri visibly lit up at the sight and he crushed his grandfather in a hug.

“Gramps, I’ve missed you!” said Yuri.

“You little brat,” Nikolai replied playfully, carefully ruffling Yuri’s hair. “We saw each other a few days ago.”

“But still,” Yuri insisted. He tugged on Nikolai’s sleeve and pulled out the comfiest chair. “Here, sit here. Do you want some tea?” Nikolai shook his head.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Otabek and Grandmama both shared a small smile at their counterparts’ actions. Grandmama was to Nikolai the same as Otabek was to Yuri. It was the fifth generation of this agreement between their two families. Even though this fundamental bond was not as old as other groups’, there was no question of their loyalties. The Security Group leader was the only partner equal in status and rank as the boss. The Boss was in charge of the whole group, but the Security Group leader made sure they all stayed in line.

Grandmama and Grandpa Nikolai remained on the Bratva’s council, made up of the boss, the security group leader, and the assorted brigadiers that composed the bulk of the bratva’s forces. As per tradition, former bosses automatically remained on the council which is what Zarina and Nikolai were. Though they had no group of underlings for themselves like the brigadiers, they employed the shestroyka when necessary.

Yuri placed himself at the head of the table, flanked by Otabek on his left and Nikolai with Zarina on his right. The other brigadiers began to arrive. First was Ludmilla, or Mila, as she insisted she be called. She walked in decisively, not wavering even an inch on her stilettos. The slinky iridescent sequined dress she had on hugged all her curves and her short red hair gleamed in the lights of the large room. Hips swaying, she cocked an eyebrow and waited as one of the guards nearby pulled out her chair and she settled herself on it. Pulling out a long cigarette, she breathed it in, licking the cigarette seductively and looking over at Yuri with lidded eyes. Yuri just sighed and stuck out his tongue. She grinned back.

Mila took another puff. “Yakov and Christophe are right behind me, though Christophe may have been distracted by that new guard’s ass again.”

Right on cue, the door opened again to reveal a grumpy Yakov, who tossed his hat to a nearby guard. Lilia followed behind but stood against the wall, newspaper in hand. Christophe followed soon after, his white and purple suit marking a stark contrast with his tanned skin. Waltzing over to the nearby liquor cabinet, he poured himself a drink and took his seat.

“I’m taking over for Victor,” he purred and took a long sip. The ice clinked merrily against the glass.

One of the guards shut the door behind him as the rest of the guards filed out of the room, leaving the group alone. Yakov broke the silence first.

“What the fuck did Victor do now?”

“It wasn’t his fault.” Mila. She produced a sheaf of papers and slid it along to Yuri. “Boss, here are the call logs we have on the police department.” Yuri shuffled through them as she explained. “At 9:32pm, there was an anonymous tip called in from a burner phone outside of St. Petersburg. It told of a handoff that was to occur between Baranovskaya’s group and Victor. They didn’t give the police enough time to trace the call but we did, thanks to Leo. Unfortunately, Victor had already left so we could not warn him.” She paused for effect and impatient, Yuri finished it off.

“We heard the rest from Georgi,” he added. All heads turned his way. “They made the handoff and Victor finally noticed something was wrong. Being smart, he saved Georgi, who was distracted, by giving himself up. Georgi’s no longer our bookkeper, by the way. He’s shestroyka.” The rest of the table nodded, agreeing with the Boss’ decision. It was only right, after a mistake like that that cost them one of their Brigadiers.

“Who called in the tip?” asked Zarina.

“Grandmama,” replied Babicheva. “It was the Italians.”


End file.
